Our first official 'date,' according to Hazel, is breakfast the following morning. Hazel sits at my side, surreptitiously holding my hand under the table, smiling like an idiot and fooling no one, judging by the curious and amused glances the others cast our way.

George and Riley aren't helping the matter, and giggle every time Hazel asks me a dumb 'first date' question, like what my favorite color is and what I like to do in my free time. At Hazel's insistence, I ask him questions, too.

"Um... What's your favorite food?"

"Hmmm..." Hazel casts his gaze skyward, studying the peaked roof of the dining tent. "Grape."

"Grape what?"

"Anything." He shrugs. "If it tastes like grape, I like it."

"That's not a food, though. It's a flavor."

"So?"

"So, you'd eat grape-flavored spaghetti?"

He appears to consider this quite seriously. "I guess if it tasted good. Like, if they got the grape flavor right."

I roll my eyes. He has a way of answering the questions without really answering them. "Fine. Let's be more specific. What's your favorite meal?"

"That's easy. This one."

"Your favorite meal is... rehydrated eggs and pancakes with a vague aftertaste of Elmer's glue?"

"Nope. My favorite meal is any meal I eat with you."

Riley groans and George snorts, causing milk chocolate to erupt from his nose in very unattractive bubbles, effectively curing me of my hunger. Despite myself, I laugh. "You cheeseball."

Hazel pretends to wilt. "You don't like cheese?"

I shake my head. "Nope. I love it."

Grinning, he hooks his index finger with mine under the table. "Good. 'Cause I'm full of it.

🐚

Our second date is lunch the same day, and our third (again, according to Hazel) is dinner.

Kissing me behind the portable restrooms that evening, he tells me as much.

"Wow. Third date already. You know what that means, right?"

I answer breathlessly as he cups the back of my neck and slips his hand under the front of my shirt. "That we're... moving too fast?"

"Hey, I'll move as slow as you want," he says, nuzzling the side of my jaw, which is rough and scratchy with a few days' worth of stubble. "It means we're going steady. We're official."

Laughing, I push him away. "How is that not too fast? Hazel, it's been a day."

"So? How long does it take to know if you like someone?"

My gaze shifts away from him, up to the dark forms of the hills and the bright stars beyond.

"I guess... I'm insecure," I mumble. "I've never dated before, so I don't really know what to... Like, I'm wondering if you're only doing this because you're bored. I mean, what happens when we get back?"

"To Crestwood, you mean?" Hazel frowns. "Well, I'm hoping you'll be my boyfriend there, too."

"Boyfriend?" I blink.

Hazel tilts his head to the side and hooks a finger in the collar of my shirt, gently tugging me closer again. "Well, yeah. Isn't that what it's called these days? I wanna take you places—to Chase, and the beach, and... to bed, if you'll let me. I wanna date you, Charlie. For reals."

"For reals?" I laugh despite the heat in my face. "Are you eight?"

"I'm a kid at heart, sure," he says, leaning in to kiss me again. "But I'm dead serious about you. I thought you were cute the first time I saw you on the beach. I kept trying to work up the nerve to talk to you. That's how I saw you fall in. I was watching you the whole time."

I wrinkle my nose. "Creepy. And I didn't fall. I jumped."

"Same difference. I'm just glad I was there to pull you out. Gave me an excuse to introduce myself."

"I'm glad, too," I say. "Even if I'd survived and got out on my own, who knows if I'd be here? I might have gotten hurt and missed my chance."

Hazel's expression clouds. "Yeah, maybe. Hey, let's talk about something else, 'kay?"

I shrug. "Okay. What's the first thing you wanna do when we get back?"

"Hmmm... You."

"Hazel!"

"What? I'm being honest. You want me to be less honest?"

"In this case, sure."

"Fine. Shower. Then you."

I roll my eyes at him. At least he makes me laugh.

🐚

Over the second week in camp, Hazel and I get to know each other properly. According to him, we go on over fifteen 'dates' in the span of five days. Personally, I don't think eating granola next to each other counts as a date, but Hazel refuses to be dissuaded, and celebrates our 'one week anniversary' by presenting me with a mini Milky Way candy bar, which I'd told him was my favorite kind.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, laughing as he deposits the wrapped chocolate in my hand. Riley is with some of the others, playing a complicated board game someone brought along, and we have the tent to ourselves.

He shrugs. "George. He's got a whole stash. He's lucky there aren't bears around here."

"I didn't get you anything," I confess jokingly. "I didn't know one week anniversaries were a thing."

Hazel shrugs again and clears his throat. "I like to celebrate. My mom... She used to say every day was worth celebrating. She said that a lot, especially after she got sick. Even when she wasn't feeling well, she'd celebrate little things like that. Because you never know if..."

He's still smiling, but the corner of his mouth trembles and there's a tell-tale shine in his eyes.

"Hey, come here." I pull him into a hug, and he holds on tight, crushing me against his chest. "I'm sorry about your mom. Do you wanna talk about her?"

He shakes his head against my shoulder.

"No. Not right now. Right now... Let's not talk at all."

We're sitting side by side on my cot, and he releases me enough to meet my eyes. His own are bright with mingled passions, and I can't help smiling as he angles for another kiss. He says I wear my heart on my sleeve, but he's the most openly emotional guy I've ever met. If he wants to cry, he cries, and if he wants to express affection, he doesn't hesitate.

I'm far less demonstrative—not because I don't want to be, but because I don't know how. Hazel is a patient and persistent teacher, though, and he's been gradually exploring and pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone all week. Now, as he makes a move and his hand slides down to the button of my jeans, he finds the edge.

"Wait, don't." I push him away.

He withdraws with a slight frown. "You don't want to?"

The cot creaks as I move away from him. "I do. Just not... now. Or here. What if Riley comes back?"

Characteristically, he shrugs. "It's just a hand job. We'd stop."

Shuddering at the thought of Riley seeing Hazel's hand in my pants, I hug myself defensively. "It's not 'just' anything, to me. I'm barely out as it is."

Hazel's frown deepens. "You don't wanna be seen with me?"

"I didn't say that," I snap. "I don't care if people see us together. I just don't want to be seen having sex with you."

"A hand job isn't sex," Hazel argues.

"It is to me," I say, unintentionally raising my voice. Consciously lowering it again, I continue in a rush. "I don't know what definition you're using, but if you get someone off, that's sex, whether you do it with your hand or... or anything else. I think we should agree on that."

"Okay." Still frowning, he watches me with a troubled expression. "I mean, I get it, and it's not like I'd do that with anyone but you. It's just... I don't know. Not a big deal to me. Like, it's natural, or whatever. Not something to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, well, taking a shit is natural, too, but it's still not something you do where other people can see you."

He raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it. I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry, I just... Ugh." Bunching my hands in my hair, I expel my breath in a sigh. "This is what I wanted to avoid."

"What?"

"Romance. Distraction."

"Am I that distracting?"

"Yes!" I almost shout the word, then soften my tone again as Hazel's expression flickers with hurt. "I mean... not in a bad way. But yeah, you're distracting. All I think about now is you. Even when I'm working. You're always on my mind."

Hazel grins. "Did you just admit to being obsessed with me?"

"No."

He steps closer, a mischievous smile on his lips. "I think you did."

"Did not."

"Did, too. And, hey—we just had our first fight."

I scowl at him. "Did not."

He touches the end of his nose to mine. "Did, too. And we survived. That's worth celebrating, don't you think?"

Giving up, I laugh and let him kiss me; if we were alone, I'd probably let him do a lot more, too.

🐚

We're not alone, though, and if our relationship was a secret from anyone, it doesn't stay that way for long. Pretty soon everyone knows we're a couple and treats us as such. Thankfully, apart from some lighthearted ribbing, almost no one gives us any grief for it. The 'almost' comes in the form of Michaela, one of the girls in the Hippodraco tent, whose religion not only informs her that 'homosexuality is a sin,' but also that she should loudly proclaim as much to anyone who will listen, should the chance arise.

Thankfully, everyone else in camp is either neutral on the topic or supportive in our favor, and Michaela is quickly shut down, but not before the damage is done.

Hazel had told me his dad wasn't the most attentive of fathers, and it seems he hadn't lied. The professor remained the only person in camp unaware of our entanglement—at least until Michaela made a stink.

It's evening, the last day of the second week in camp, and I'm on my way back from the toilets when I hear Professor MacDowell call Hazel to his tent. I don't mean to eavesdrop, but I'm passing right behind it when they go inside. They don't see me, though, which is made obvious as soon as they start talking.

"So," MacDowell begins, "I understand you've involved yourself with a student. Is that so?"

"Jesus, Dad," Hazel sighs. "You make it sound like a crime or something. He's an adult, and it's not like I'm a teacher. We're on equal ground."

"Are you?"

There's something sharp in the professor's tone, and Hazel doesn't answer right away.

"Yes," he says at last. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. We weren't together before we got here."

"Hmm," MacDowell intones. "That had better be the truth. When you insisted I select him over the other candidates, despite the fact he wasn't even on the final list, it made me wonder. I was surprised to hear you speak so highly of anyone involved in academia, which I suppose is why I agreed to your ridiculous demand. It seemed like an odd stipulation, but as it was the only way I could get you to come along, I gave in. Now I understand why you wanted him here."

"I told you we weren't together then," Hazel snaps. "Charlie wants to be here, and he deserves to be here. Has he disappointed you?"

"Far from it," MacDowell says. "He's an excellent student. The thing is, Hazel, there are many excellent students. This internship is intended for the truly exceptional. It is certainly not intended as an opportunity for you to indulge in romantic liaisons with the latest target of your infatuations. Do I make myself clear?"

"Dad! You're not listening! Charlie and I—"

"I said, do I make myself clear?"

MacDowell's tone is cold and hard as frozen concrete, and Hazel seems to know there's no getting past it.

"Yes, but—"

"Good. I'm not saying I disapprove. All I'm asking is that you control yourself and don't jeopardize what I've worked very hard to—"

I don't hear the rest of what he says, because I run away. Well, I don't literally run, but I walk as quickly as I can with my vision blurred by tears and my chest constricted with emotion.

What I'd heard seemed to confirm my worst fears and stoked the fires of my imposter syndrome to a full blaze. Knowing I hadn't been MacDowell's choice—that I hadn't been chosen at all—somehow hurt less than knowing I'd been used as a bargaining chip, and was possibly still being used.

I know I owe it to Hazel to let him explain, but at the moment all I want is to get as far away from him and the camp as I can.

It's not until I get a good ways, indeed, that I calm down enough for two important facts to sink in: it's getting dark, and I left my inhaler behind.